Winter's End Part 3

Nancy had been working for the Kinnaird's for almost thirty five years. In all this time she had seen the family pa.s.s through both joy and sorrow. The old woman Kinnaird was a woman who was quite misunderstood by the people of Skye. But how could she blame the residents of Skye? Mrs. Kinnaird always had a terrible habit to interact with the locals on her sourest days. On her better days, she preferred sitting alone at home with her two little dogs in her flower garden.

Theodore started the car and sputtered down the road towards the highway.

"Where to Mrs. Kinnaird?" he asked still unsure of what his employer wanted.

"That way and up the highway," she said. "I'll tell you when to turn around."

He turned the car to the left and it slowly moved onto the main road and towards the young woman strolling up the road.

"Slow, Theodore," said Mrs. Kinnaird almost in a whisper. "So I can see her."

The car drove past slowly. Mrs. Kinnaird peered at the young woman through the dark, tinted windows. She was wearing a long grey skirt and a pale blue open front cardigan over a cream top. Her long red curly hair was swept into a top knot on the crown of her head. She had her face held down so Mrs. Kinnaird could not quite see how she looked. As the car moved away, she sat back into her seat thoughtfully.

"What have you found about her, Theodore?" she said.

"She's a widow from London. Two kids, ten years old and under, one boy and a girl."

"Boy older?"

"Ah... yes," he replied. "Moved here to heal from the grief of her husband's death, I suppose."

"What did the husband do?"

"Was an architect, I heard."

"Her name?"

"Emma Winston."

Mrs. Kinnaird sat back quietly. She watched the stream of trees fly past her. She let out a small breath. She could be the one, she thought. The one she had been waiting for all these years.

"Turn around Theodore," she said quietly. "It's time we go home."

Emma glanced at the dark BMW turn out of the driveway and into the main road. It crept slowly by her. She tried not to look at the old woman that seemed to be peering at her with a strange stare through the dark tinted windows. Emma looked down uncomfortably, brus.h.i.+ng the loose strands of hair framing her face away in a weak attempt to occupy herself as the car crawled by her. When the car drove away, she shook her head in bewilderment. The old woman was sure strange.

Emma let out a small nervous giggle. Mrs. Kinnaird must be wondering if she was crazy strolling along a deserted highway at approaching dusk. She heard the tweeting of birds preparing for the night in the trees around her. The setting sun was emanating a golden glow. She loved the feel of it on her skin as she basked in its amber light. There was still much light in the sky for her to walk a little further on.

She heard the sound of a car come towards her and she edged onto the side of the road. It was Mrs. Kinnaird's dark BMW and it was slowing as it approached her. To her surprise, it veered to her side of the road and came to a stop right beside her.

The dark windows rolled down and inside was sitting an old woman who had a frown etched up high on her forehead. A deep green shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her shoulder length hair bobbed as she tilted her head to a side to scrutinise her. Her eyes roamed the facets of Emma's face as Emma looked back at her with obvious stun, speechless.

"Who are you," demanded the woman. It wasn't a question. Emma didn't know whether to be offended by the statement. But seeing this could highly possibly be the infamous Mrs. Kinnaird that most of Skye was in awe of, she decided to undertake a more peaceful approach.

She managed a small smile and leant towards the window. "I'm Emma. I live down the road," she said pointing towards it.

The woman frowned at her with indifference.

Emma hesitated before she said. "I saw you a little earlier drive out of the adjoining property. Are you Mrs. Kinnaird?"

The woman sat back and stared straight ahead. "It's late. Get in. You should not be walking at such an hour."

Emma dropped her gaze to the ground, feeling uneasy at accepting her offer. "I'm fine, madam," she said sternly. "I can manage the walk back."

"Theodore," the woman said.

A tall, thin man stepped out of the driver's seat. He wore a dark suit and was immaculately groomed. He stepped around the car and towards Emma. "Please, Miss," he said opening the rear door for her. "Mrs. Kinnaird would appreciate it if you would oblige her to drop you off home." He said the name with a little rea.s.suring smile. A smile that told her that she would be safe.

CHAPTER 4.

The two minute car ride to her house was done in absolute silence. Emma twiddled her thumbs nervously, the ride feeling longer than it actually was.

Mrs. Kinnaird sat beside her without saying a word. Emma almost breathed out a sigh of relief as she saw her house emerge in the distance. The car came to a smooth halt outside her home. Emma opened her car door a little too eagerly before remembering her manners.

"Um...thank you Mrs. Kinnaird," she said. "I appreciate it."

The older woman continued to stare outside her window. She didn't look at Emma nor did she acknowledge her.

Emma swallowed uncomfortably, unsure of what she was to do. She put a foot outside the door.

"Mrs. Winston," the woman said at last. "If ever you wish to take a walk, try avoid doing it along the highway."

Emma stared at her, a little taken aback by her commanding tone.

"Mrs. Kinnaird...," she started.

"Mrs. Winston," the woman interrupted her. "I understand that you are a single mother of two children. I would hate to hear if something terrible happened to you. You are welcome to pa.s.s through my property anytime you have the urge to walk. It is large and well enough to cater any length of walk you'd like to take."

"Mrs. Kinnaird," started Emma again. She didn't want to take the woman's offer but she was overcome by one of those annoying nagging feelings that she was right. "Thank you," she managed to blurt out finally. "That's very kind of you."

"Hmmm," the woman grunted and turned back to look outside the window again.

Emma stepped outside the dark car and then watched it drive away up her driveway and back into the highway.

She stood outside watching the last of the evening light fade into the darkness. She didn't know what to make of her encounter with her elderly neighbour. Did she just make a new friend in the Isle of Skye? She just wasn't so sure.

Two days had pa.s.sed since Mrs. Kinnaird had dropped Emma off at her front door. She had yet to take advantage of Mrs. Kinnaird's offer.

Emma tucked her feet under her as she settled herself into her settee. She looked at the sheet of blue sea lay in the distance outside her sun room. A white boat bobbed on its waves like the paper boats she used to float in the drains outside her mother's flat when she was ten.

She heard her children cheer in excitement over a new game they were playing on video. They had adjusted well to the slow and quiet life in Skye. She had been inwardly fearful that they would reject the move. But they clearly loved the open and clean air just as much she did.

Mrs. Kinnaird still nerved her slightly. Although she was grateful that she had been concerned of her safety, she didn't want to trespa.s.s anyone's boundaries and she certainly didn't want Mrs. Kinnaird to feel that she was taking advantage of her goodwill.

A knock rapped at her window, shocking her back to reality. She clutched at her chest, trying to breathe out an air of relief as she saw that it was only Lisa. She was waving wildly through the large windows, her mouth in an open, wide smile.

She rose to open the door.

"Hi there," said Lisa. "I got something for you." She pushed her way past Emma and into the warm sun-lit room.

Emma rolled her eyes and managed to prevent a sigh from escaping her lips. If there was one thing she would need to get used to since moving to Breakish, it was the ability of its locals to successfully annoy her. She did not know whether it was a silent cultural aspect but they sure was subtly b.u.t.ting into her private s.p.a.ce each time she met one of them. Or in this case, forcefully meeting her!

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Lisa exclaimed. "Look at this conservatory! It's beautiful! Did you put this up? It wasn't here before."

Emma strolled up to her slowly. "Yes, I did. Before moving in."

Lisa roamed her eyes delightfully over the white tiled floor and the wooden framed pitched roof. A chandelier hung from the centre of its pitch. Pots of palm trees ornamented the corners of the room while magenta sofas decked the centre.

"Oh, I got this for you," she said handing over a basket of fruit absent-mindedly, her eyes still pre-occupied with the pretty down lights that lined the beams in the roof.

"Thanks," said Emma, admiring the a.s.sortment of fruit containing half of a water melon a ripened papaya, mangoes and even a punnet of strawberries. "This is quite an...unusual collection."

"Oh, you're welcome," said Lisa, blus.h.i.+ng slightly. "Mr. Craig, the man who owns the store at which I work, sometimes orders in the rarest fruit, just as a treat for his customers. I was welcome to take home some, you know, being loyal staff and all. I had more than enough, so I thought to bring you along some,"

"That's um... really kind of you, Lisa," said Emma. She placed the basket on the little round table by one of the many windows in the cosy conservatory.

"As a matter of fact," Lisa continued. "I saw builders five months ago drop into the property. Round about the time the Fletchers sold the house. Didn't know they were putting up this gorgeous conservatory. I simply thought they were doing some maintenance to the house."

"Would you like some tea, Lisa?" Emma asked, trying to stray away from the subject of her house. "This is the first time you've come to visit. Maybe you want to stay awhile?" She bit her tongue as she let the words slip out of her mouth. She crossed her fingers behind her.

"No, that's awfully kind of you," Lisa said, rus.h.i.+ng towards the door. "I just came to drop those fruit for you. Big Jim is going for a football practise in an hour."

"Big Jim?"

"My thirteen year old boy," Lisa replied, proudly. "He plays right-back. And a very good one at that if I can say so."

"I'm sure he is," Emma said giving a small smile.

"Emma," Lisa's voice took a sudden surprising serious turn. "Have you met Mrs. Kinnaird?"

Emma rose an eyebrow. "Yes. A couple of days ago."

"Well," said Lisa, looking anxiously at the door. "I should go now before I get any more late."

Emma stepped into her way before she could make an exit. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason in particular," Lisa answered somewhat unsurely. "Seeing that she's your closest neighbour that's all."

"Lisa, do you think I'm stupid?" Emma said sternly.

"No, of course not," Lisa said, fl.u.s.tering. "I merely asked because..."

"Because, she's my closest neighbour?" Emma asked with a hint of sarcasm. "Oh come on, Lisa. Give me the decency to not play me the fool.

"I'm sorry, Emma," she answered, licking her lips nervously. "But really, it's just that Mrs. Kinnaird is... um... rather strange."

"What do you mean 'strange'?"

"Strange. She's different," Lisa replied. "Listen, I wish I could tell you more. And I will, I promise you. But I really need to go now. Big Jim's practise, remember?"

"Oh, of course," Emma said, stepping out of her way. As much as she would have liked to have shaken the story out of the woman, she knew she couldn't.

Lisa bade her farewell as she stepped out of the doors of the conservatory.

Emma watched the woman disappear down her driveway, her curiosity further increased about the neighbour everyone refused to talk about- Mrs. Kinnaird.

"How is the weather outside, Theodore?" said Mrs. Kinnaird. She put down her newspaper to look at her butler standing before the long floor length windows.

"The usual January closing winter, Mrs. Kinnaird," he answered, refilling her cup with tea. "A little cold but tolerant enough to take a walk." He gave a small glance at the older woman.

Mrs. Kinnaird let out a thoughtful grunt. She accepted the cup and took a slight sip. "Has the young lady taken a walk yet through the land?"

"I can't say that I have seen her, my lady," said Theodore, stepping back from the table.

"Mrs. Kinnaird drummed her small, frailed fingers on the table. "Why do you think that is, Theodore?"

"I'm sure she will in her own good time."

She didn't like it. She didn't want her young neighbour to take up her offer "in her own good time". She was too old to wait for her to take a walk through her property "in her own good time". She wanted 'now'. She needed 'now'.

Her eyes fell on the vintage vase in the centre of her small round table. She trailed the exquisitely detailed golden rimmed base of the vase with her eyes. She remembered the numerable times she had silently counted the small hand-painted pink blossoms that sat against its peachy background. Today Nancy had created a beautiful ensemble of yellow freesias that stood in perfect array within it. She always wondered where Nancy ordered her flowers from because they always did come regardless of the seasons. She never did ask though. Sometimes these questions were better left to those who knew how best to answer them. But not those of young Mrs. Winston. She needed to know more about her.

She picked out a yellow blossom out of the vase. Weren't freesias autumn and spring flowers? These looked too pretty and cheerful for Skye's winter.

"We might need to pay her another visit, Theodore," she sighed. She rose and strolled thoughtfully to the beautiful carved white sideboard cabinet displaying an a.s.sortment of family photographs. It stood against a wall dedicated to another large collection of family memories. She traced her fingers along the dainty, silver frame of an old, dull black and white photograph. The man in the picture staring back at her with his dark eyes, had even darker hair sleeked back and parted in the middle. He was young, in his twenties, Mrs. Kinnaird remembered. His smile was so affectionate that she had to return it with her own.

"Arthur wouldn't agree," she said. " 'Wait a moment, Ethel. You're far too impulsive; impatient', my Arthur would have said."

She sighed again tiredly. Turning to face her loyal and faithful butler, she asked, "Have I changed that much Theodore?"

Theodore attempted to look away, pre-occupying his mind with the details of the Persian carpet gracing the floor of the family living room. "It's not my place to say, my lady."

Mrs. Kinnaird grunted and hobbled back to her chair. "Oh, come off it, Theodore. You've been in the family far too long that you've almost become one. I would trade you any day for that prying, nosy, meddlesome cousin of mine, Deanna Boyd."

She picked up her newspaper, trying to continue with it from where she left off but instead slammed it back onto the table with a thud. "Tell me, Theodore, how is that old twerp's been doing?"